Identity
by Oxymoronic Alliteration
Summary: When Tim crosses paths with a sultry singer he abandons "Timothy McGee" for "Thom E. Gemcity" in hope of impressing her. Written for the NFA Community Thom E. Gemcity The Writer Challenge
1. Chapter 1

"Gosh, Mr. Gemcity, I couldn't put it down!"

Tim smiled at the freckled teen who stood grinning before him, her hand extended out as she handed him her copy of _Deep Six_. It was nice to get this kind of recognition and respect. Too bad Thom E. Gemcity - not Timothy McGee - was the one who got it. "I'm glad you liked it so much," he said sincerely as he took the book. "What's your name?"

"Oh, it's Enid," she told him, a blush creeping into her cheeks. "I just love the characters. They all seem like they're real people!"

Tim hoped she didn't notice him wince as he signed the inside of the book: _To Enid, all the best, love Thom_. "Thanks for coming out," he said as he handed the book back. "I appreciate your support."

As the girl left Tim leaned back and stretched his arms up. He had been at The Book Nook book store for nearly three hours; one hour spent reading excerpts and answering questions and two hours spent signing autographs and smiling for pictures. While his wrist was aching from so much writing and he was seeing spots from so many camera flashes, he was surprised to find that he wasn't so tired. It was only just 10:00pm and he wasn't quite ready to head back to his hotel.

"I can't tell you how grateful we are, Mr. Gemcity, that you came here for a book signing." Rory Payne, the store's owner, was readying the store for closing now that the book signing was over. While not nearly as large or as well-known as chain stores like Borders and Barnes and Noble, The Book Nook was a quaint and cozy little bookstore on in north Chicago. Tim was happy to be helping out small businesses on his book signing tour.

"It's no problem," he assured her as he grabbed his coat. He had arrived that morning and so far The Windy City was living up to it's name. "Could you recommend a good place around here for a drink?"

Rory grabbed her coat as well, walking Tim to the door. "The Green Mill is always a good spot. It's Al Capone's old jazz club."

That perked Tim's interest. "Is it still jazz club?"

"Sure, they have performers there every now and then. Maybe not jazz specifically, but that kind of easy listening music," she explained as they stepped out. She locked the door behind them. "It's down that way," she said pointing south, "and then you take a right at the second street. You can't miss it."

"Okay, thank you." He paused, wondering if he should invite her for a drink.

As if reading his mind, Rory yawned and said, "I'm beat, so I think I'm going to get home to my cozy bed and broken heater. Thank you again!" she called out as she walked off in the opposite direction.

"No problem!" he replied with a smile and a wave. He walked down the street and, sure enough, soon saw a large neon sign reading "The Green Mill."

The club was crowded when he entered. To his right was a long, dimly lit bar. Straight ahead were booths and tables, all of which were currently occupied. At the very front of the club was a medium-sized stage, currently occupied by a lone pianist whose fingers were moving rapidly across the keys. He noticed other patrons with their eyes closed shaking their heads back and forth as if completely absorbing the music. One woman was leaning back against a man with her eyes closed. Every time the pianist went up or down the scale she would grasp the man's leg as though the sound of the piano was so incredibly overwhelming she would have to hold on tight.

Tim stood still at the back of the club, not seeing anywhere to sit and not wanting to simply stand there holding a drink. Waitresses bumped past him carrying orders back and forth.

When the pianist finished his piece the crowd broke into applause, whistling and calling out for an encore. The man, though, announced that his set was done and that there would be a short break before the next act come on. As he left the stage more than half of the patrons also stood and made their way out of the club through a door near the stage.

"Isn't there another act?" Tim asked a passing waitress.

She turned back to look at the stage. "Yeah…and singer I think. People are just leaving for smoke breaks."

"Are their tables unavailable then?"

The waitress shrugged. "They're not using them and we don't have any kind of saving policy."

Tim slipped to a small open table near the front of the stage, silently patting himself on the back for not being a smoker. He ordered a glass of Chardonnay and looked around the club. There was certainly a 1920's feel to it in the décor. Definitely the kind of place you'd expect to find a gangster.

The waitress placed his wine on the table just as another pianist entered the stage. "This girl's good," she confided in him before walking away. Tim was confused because, as far as he could see, the pianist was a man.

The pianist placed a few opening notes and a back drop curtain opened to reveal a woman in a red gown that showed off every curve of her body. Her hair was deep red and fell down around her shoulders in soft curls. She took center stage with a smug grin, as though she owned the place. "You're…mean to me," she sang with a pout on her lips. "Why must you be mean to me? Gee….honey, it seems to me…you love to see me crying." She continued the song with a sultry, chesty voice. She and the pianist played off of each other, with changing rhythms, harmonies, and slurs. Around him Tim could hear men whistling at her which only seemed to further encourage her sex kitten persona.

"It must be great fun to be mean to me…you shouldn't…" she perched herself on the piano bench with her back to the pianist. "For can't you see…what you mean to me?" She held the last note out , not actually cutting it off but simply getting softer until the note faded away. In response to the applause, the woman gently bowed her head, though the smug smile remained.

She perched herself atop the piano, crossing her legs at the ankle. She looked to the pianist with a smile and nodded. The man hit a note and watched for her to take the lead. "When the little blue bird, who has never said a word, starts to sing: "Spring! Spring!" she half-sang, half-spoke. She went at an agonizingly slow tempo as though teasing the audience. "It is nature, that's all," she said, "simply telling us…to fall in love!" She slapped the side of the piano and the tempo picked up to a steady pace. She brassily belted out, "And that's why birds do it, bees do it, even educated fleas do it. Let's do it; let's fall in love!" She smiled cheekily at the audience, as though the idea that she may have been hinting at sex was just so taboo.

"Some Argentine's without means do it. People say in Boston even beans do it! Let's do it; let's fall in love!" She struck a pose with her hands out to the audience, palms open as though accepting their praise and applause.

Tim was clapping along with the rest of them, completely entranced by the woman. She was like something out of an old film noir. She looked every bit the part of the sultry vixen who would bewitch (or try to bewitch) the detective. She looked as though her time not spent on stage was spent on the arm of a mobster, a mink wrap hanging off of her shoulders.

The woman suddenly caught his eyes and smiled. Not the same smug smile that she had given before. This smile was more playful and more genuine. She leaned over to the pianist and whispered something into his ear before sliding of off the piano.

The piano started up and the woman took her place back in the center of the stage. "I don't care what the weather man says when the weather man says it's raining; you'll never hear me complaining. I'm certain the sun will shine," she sang, this time in a sweeter tone than she had in the previous two songs. It was a song that Tim knew sounded familiar, though he couldn't quite place it.

She slowly walked to the side of the stage where Tim sat. "I don't care where the weather vane points when the weather vane points to gloomy. It's gotta be sunny to me, when your eyes look in to mine." The pianist hit a chord and the woman went into a faster tune, her eyes directed squarely on Tim. "Jeepers creepers! Where'd you get those peepers? Jeepers creepers! Where'd you get those eyes?"

Tim's cheeks were pink and he couldn't help but avert his eyes downward to his still full glass of wine. The woman, though, continued unfazed, coming even closer to his table as she serenaded him. He could feel the spotlight on him and knew that every patron in the club was currently watching him.

When he glanced back up she was still looking directly at him, still smiling that playful smile. "Jeepers creepers! Where'd you get those peepers? Oh, those weepers, how they hypnotize! Where'd you get those eyes?" She finished the song, throwing a wink Tim's way, before announcing she would be taking a short break. As she sauntered off stage she threw a final look Tim's way.

Tim let out a soft sigh, feeling embarrassed and flattered all at once. He downed his glass of wine and stood. There was an open seat near the bar and he thought it best to enjoy the rest of the show from afar.

* * *

**AN/Legal Mumbo Jumbo:** "Mean to Me" is the property of Fats Waller, "Let's Do It" is the property of Cole Porter, and "Jeepers Creepers" is the property of Johnny Mercer and Harry Warren.


	2. Chapter 2

Though he was in a dark corner of the club, Tim still felt as though the singer was looking directly at him as she performed the rest of her set. His finger gently ran down the stem of his wine glass as he listened to her sing "Someone to Watch Over Me." She stood center stage, her eyes never moving from where he sat. He tried to push himself back into the shadows.

"Although he may not be the man some girls think of as handsome," she crooned wistfully, "to my heart he carries the key."

Tim couldn't help but feel that the song had been written specifically about him, though he doubted he had any key to this woman's heart. He imagined she would meet up with some suave man after her set. He could just imagine the man. Tall, dark, and handsome, of course, with a taste for martinis and cigarettes. A guy who wore designer clothing, from his tie down to his shoes, and who could get into the most exclusive clubs and restaurants, even if they were already packed beyond the acceptable number of people. A guy who only used the computer for getting online, who would never be caught dead at a comic book convention, and who considered _Harry Potter_ to be for children.

Timothy McGee was not that man. Even his name was a dead give away to his dorkiness. It leant itself so well to insulting nicknames, as Tony had shown him over the past five years. He was tall, yes, though whether or not he was "handsome" was subjective. He had no stomach for martinis, let alone cigarettes. Timothy McGee wore button-up shirts with simple slacks and had no desire to go to the exclusive clubs and restaurants, regardless of whether or not he actually could. He was a regular at the local comic book store, his copies of the _Harry Potter_ books were worn from the amount of times they'd been read, and he was far better with computers than he was with people. In short, Timothy McGee was the antithesis of this woman's fantasy man.

As she finished her last song, Tim couldn't help but slightly resent this woman who had teased him while knowing damn well she'd never actually give him the time of day. His second glass of wine had remained nearly untouched and, as the singer left the stage, Tim downed the glass with one large gulp.

"Another glass, sir?" the bartender asked.

Tim nodded and sat back in the chair. He glanced at his watch. 11:00pm. The club was once again nearly empty as its occupants left for another dose of nicotine and the stage was empty, the lights down, giving it a dark and dreary tone, much different than the bright and lively tone it had emoted only minutes earlier.

"Are you hiding from me?"

Tim was startled by the voice behind him. He turned and saw the woman standing there, a bemused smirk playing on her lips. She still wore the same red gown, which Tim now saw was velvet with tiny beading along the bust. "Did I scare you off?" she teased.

"Of course not," he said, not even convincing himself. "I just don't like to be the center of attention sometimes."

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you. Let me make it up to you by buying your next drink."

"No that's not–" Tim was cut off by the woman who called to the bartender for a dirty gin martini and another glass of whatever Tim had been drinking.

She slid into the chair beside him and turned to face him so that her knees pressed against his leg. "I'm Nora Delphi."

"Nice to meet you," Tim said as he tried not to blush.

She paused expectantly, before adding, "I don't suppose you have a name as well?"

"It's, uh, Ti–" He stopped as though his tongue had forgotten how to work. His earlier thoughts ran through his head, thoughts of who she was and of who he was and of who he desired to be. Timothy McGee? Nora Delphi? The names didn't have a ring to them. They almost seemed mismatched. "Thom." He didn't know why he said it, but once he had he made the choice to continue with it. "Thom E. Gemcity."

Their drinks were placed before them and Nora gently swirled the olive toting toothpick around in the liquid. "Thom E. Gemcity? That's quite a name." She took a sip. "And what do you do, Mr. Gemcity?"

"I'm a writer, actually. And please, call me Thom." He watched her red lips close over the rim of the glass as she took another sip, leaving behind a red smudge. What he wouldn't give to be that glass. "I take it you're a singer?"

"Among other things," she replied coyly. "I do theater around the city along with my nightclub gigs. I've sung in every joint in Chicago." Her eyes slowly trailed down his body, assessing the man who sat beside her. Tim was glad he had chosen that night to wear his Armani suit and imported Italian leather shoes. "You _look_ like a writer."

"I wasn't aware writers had a specific look," he said with a small smile.

"Oh, they do," she insisted. "You have that dark and mysterious brooding look down, as though you're completely lost in thought. It's _quite_ attractive."

Tim decided then and there that this woman was not going to make him blush. Timothy McGee blushed and stammered, but Thom E. Gemcity didn't (and he _was_ Thom E. Gemcity right now). _He_ would make _her_ blush first. "So I'm guessing a beautiful woman such as yourself has many men to choose from. Any jealous boyfriends I should be afraid of?"

Nora was well aware of the game she and Thom were now engaged in and she was determined to come out on top. "I'm actually between boyfriends right now," she said, leaning in to accentuate her cleavage.

Tim–or rather Thom–didn't even flinch. "I must have excellent timing." He noticed her nearly empty glass and signaled to the bartender to bring her another one. "This one is on me."

She laughed as she plucked the olive from her drink. "You don't need to worry about it. I get my drinks for free." She suckled on the olive, her eyes never leaving Thom.

He noticed a small trickle of liquid streaming down her thumb. "Allow me," he offered. He caught the drop on his own thumb and gently sucked it off. He noticed Nora grin as he did so and the pink hue in her cheeks didn't go unnoticed.

Thom smiled. He had won this round.

The pair spent the rest of the night tucked away in the dark corner talking and flirting, each trying to one up the other. She would give him a coy compliment. He would let his finger stray across her hand and knuckles. She would arch her back slightly to exacerbate her bust. He would lean in much closer than necessary to whisper something to her. Neither wanted to give in to the other.

Inwardly, Tim was surprised with himself. Had any of his friends or family been there that night they wouldn't have even recognized Timothy McGee, the geeky federal agent. _But I'm not Timothy McGee_, he thought to himself, _I'm Thom E. Gemcity, the best-selling novelist. I don't blush or stammer. I'm confident and cool, no matter what._

The club closed at 1:00am and the two found themselves out in the cold Chicago weather. "I suppose I should be going home," Nora said. Thom stood waiting for an invitation to go to her place for a drink. But it didn't come. "Thank you for tonight," she said earnestly, leaning in and kissing him on the corner of his mouth. "I enjoyed talking to you."

As she turned to leave Thom's hand shot out and grabbed hers. "Let me at least walk you home," he insisted. "I'm sure there are creeps just waiting in the shadows to prey on unsuspecting, pretty, young girls."

Nora shrugged, but didn't attempt to dissuade him. "I only live a couple of blocks down. I suppose you'll need to go that way to get to the Red Line anyway."

Their walk was silent and much different than their time spent in the club had been. There were no sly smiles or light touches. They were just a man and a woman walking down a cold Chicago street at one in the morning. Perhaps that was why Thom slowly began to fade away and Tim crept back in. He suddenly felt bashful by the woman who walked beside him and was unsure whether or not he should try to kiss her when they finally reached her door.

As it was Tim didn't need to make the decision. Nora stopped in front of the door and looked up at him. The playful smirk was gone, replaced by a soft smile. She pushed herself up and kissed him again, this time right on the lips. "Thank you, Thom," she said after pulling away. "I hope our paths cross again."

"I hope so too."

He made sure she got in safely before turning and walking to the nearby Red Line station. He caught sight of his reflection in the window of a closed store and smiled as he noticed how her red lipstick had smudged across his lips. He felt bad, of course, for lying to her. Well, not exactly "lying," but not completely telling her the truth. Still, it had been fun to be Thom for a few hours, to say and do things that would make Tim blush.

_It's not as though I'll ever see her again_, he told himself. Content with that thought he rode the train back to his hotel, his thoughts still on the illustrious Nora Delphi.

* * *

**AN:** "Someone to Watch Over Me" is the property of George and Ira Gershwin.

Is this the end of the story? Ha! Not quite!


	3. Chapter 3

Tim awoke the next morning a little after 8:00am with a slight hangover. _Thom E. Gemcity plays and Timothy McGee must suffer the consequences_, he thought with a groan as he downed two Tylenol. It was Sunday and he wasn't due to be at the airport until later that evening, so he figured he could play tourist for the day and see the sights. He had been working hard on this book signing tour and he deserved a little vacation. Besides, Tim had never been to Chicago before and, thus far, all he had really seen of it was a bookstore and a jazz club. _And one of its women_, he added with a smile, recalling Nora. He quickly scolded himself for lumping a woman in with other city attractions, as though she were a building or a museum. Thom E Gemcity may do that, but he was now geeky Timothy McGee, respecter of women. He grinned. In a way, he was a bit relieved to be back to his old self.

Tim got dressed, opting to go casual with jeans and his MIT shirt, ate a quick breakfast, and grabbed a couple of pamphlets from the lobby of his hotel. He knew that many of the museums – the Art Institute, the Field Museum, the Aquarium, and the Planetarium – were in the downtown area known as The Loop, so his plan was to head in that direction and see what he could get done before he had to retrieve his things from the hotel and get to the airport.

He slipped his coat on and stepped out into the brisk, Chicago air. The streets were much more crowded than he would have expected considering how early it was. Most of them, of course, were tourists who moved at a snail's pace. Too polite to try and shove past them, he simply slowed his own pace, taking the time to admire the different sights on his way to the train stop. He could see the tracks shaking in anticipation of an arriving train, so he quickened his pace as he went up the stairs, inserted his pre-paid weekend pass and pushed through the turnstile just as a train pulled up. He pushed through the throngs of people exiting and slid through the doors before they closed. He plopped down in the seat nearest to the door and checked the pamphlets for the best route to the Planetarium.

"Excuse me," he said to the girl sitting directly across from him, "do you know which stop I need to get off at to get to the Planetarium?"

The girl had her head buried in a copy of the Red Eye – Chicago's free newspaper – and when he spoke to her she looked up at him, dropping the newspaper to her lap. Her red hair was under a polka-dotted head scarf, pulled into braided pigtails, bits of frizz sticking out all over, and she wore dark-rimmed glasses. Beneath her pink coat was a baby tee with a picture of Neville Longbottom and the words "My Hero." She wore a loose khaki skirt over black leggings, scrunched up white socks, and black, lace-up boots.

Despite all of this, Tim recognized her immediately. She was none other than Nora Delphi.

Her eyes widened when she caught sight of him and she looked like a deer caught in headlights. "Uh…yeah, get off at Roosevelt and keep walking down toward the lake. You can't miss it," she mumbled before lifting the newspaper up again to hide her face.

Tim gently grabbed the top of the newspaper and pulled it down. "Nora?"

She sighed and smiled sadly at him. "Hi, Thom." It took Tim a moment to remember that she was speaking to him. "Nice to see you again."

"You too," he said, grinning as the situation came to light. He gestured to her outfit, an amused smile playing on his lips. "This is, uh, different."

She glanced down at her ensemble. "Yeah, well I can't exactly spend my entire life in a sexy red dress, can I?" Her face was red and Tim sensed that she was feeling embarrassed for looking that way in front of him.

"It's cute, Nora," he assured her, suddenly thinking about his own attire. An MIT shirt? That's not very Thom E. Gemcity.

She smiled in relief. "Thanks, Thom…but I guess I should let you know that my name isn't really 'Nora Delphi.' That's just a stage name. My given name is Dorothy Eleanor Mitchell." She made a face to emphasis how much disdain she had for her name. "No _Wizard of Oz_ jokes, please."

"Oh, you mean like 'Where's Toto' or 'Are we in Kansas anymore'?" he asked with a playful glint in his eyes. She nodded with a wince, making it clear that those were neither original nor clever. "Don't worry, I'm not that corny."

Nora's – Dorothy's? – face was still red and she was having trouble looking Tim in the eye. "God, you must think I'm pathetic with the way I acted last night. It's just…" she trailed off with a shrug. "When I'm Nora, I get guys eating out of the palm of my hand. "Oh," she cut off, looking at him apologetically, "not that I'm saying _you_ were eating out of the palm of my hand…not that I wouldn't like for you to have been…I mean, I'd like for you to have been interested…ah…" She closed her eyes and groaned. "Great, now you think I'm a spazz. A liar and a spazz."

Tim couldn't help but laugh at the sight of this woman who, barely even twelve hours ago, had been so confident and who had made it her mission to seduce him. Now she sat there stammering at the sight of him.

Dorothy, though, must have taken his laughter as a sign of mocking. She buried her face in her hands. "God…just let me know when you get off, please," her muffled voice pleaded.

Tim slid into the seat beside her. "I'm sorry, I wasn't laughing at you…I was just laughing because…this whole thing is just so funny!"

"Yeah, it's way funny," she said flatly, still not looking at him.

"As long as we're being honest here, I should tell you that my real name is Timothy McGee." That got her attention. She peeked over at him through her fingers, intrigued, but not completely positive that Tim wasn't joking. "Thom E. Gemcity is my penname."

Dorothy sat up and looked at the man beside her, her mind processing what he had just said. "Are you serious…or are you just saying this to make me feel better?"

He lifted his right hand, his index, middle, and ring fingers all sticking up in the air. "Scout's honor," he promised.

She raised her eyebrows. "Are you going to tell me you're a professional boy scout or something now?"

Tim laughed. "Not professional, no, but I was a Webelos."

Dorothy sat there, eyes narrowed, just starring at him. Suddenly her eyes lit up and she just started giggling. "You're just as bad as I am!" she teased, suddenly comfortable with Thom – or Tim, rather – seeing her as she really was. No lights, no make-up, no costumes. No Nora. Just Dorothy.

"I'm probably worse," he commented. "I also neglected to tell you that my regular job is at NCIS. Uh, Naval Criminal Investigative Service,' he explained before she could inevitably ask. "We investigate crimes dealing with the Marines or the Navy."

"You also neglected to tell me you went to MIT," she said, gesturing to his T-shirt. She smiled when he blushed, but not a seductive smile like Nora's; a sweet, understanding smile. "It's really impressive."

"I'm a bit of a computer geek. Well, a _major_ computer geek," he admitted.

"I know nothing about computers, but I'm an encyclopedia of musical theater knowledge, so I think I may have you beat in the geekiness category." She grabbed at her shirt. "Also, I think wearing a _Harry Potter_ shirt trumps an MIT shirt."

The two of them locked eyes, suddenly caught in another game. This one, though was a more playful competition, one in which both would likely come out winners. Or losers, depending on how you looked at it. "I've read every single _Harry Potter_ novel at least twice," Tim told her, starting off small, but ready to pull out the big guns if need be.

"So have I. In fact, I've read _The Sorcerer's Stone_, _Chamber of Secrets_, and _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ three times."

"I've gone to the midnight book celebrations…twice in costume." That caused Dorothy to pause with a frown. Tim grinned in satisfaction.

"I write _Harry Potter _fanfiction!" she said finally with a smug – though slightly abashed – smile. Tim groaned, aware that he had just lost.

"Okay, you win. You are the bigger geek!"

"Thank you," she said as she took a mock bow, "though I'm not sure if I should really be celebrating that." She blushed, ducking her head. Her eye caught sight of the pamphlets in his hand. "I take it you're going to hit the museums today?"

"Yeah," he said hesitantly. Then, "Would you like to join me?" Dorothy's face lit up with a smile.

"That would be wonderful. I'd like to get to know Timothy McGee."

"You've gotten the basic gist of him already. Federal Agent/Geek."

Dorothy tilted her head to the side. "I'm sure there is much more to him than _that_."

"This is Roosevelt!" the automated voice announced to the passengers. "Doors open on the left at Roosevelt."

Tim stood, offering his arm to Dorothy, who gently took it. "Shall we?"

As they pushed through the crowd toward the stairs, she leaned over to him and said in a hushed voice, "No offense to Thom, but I think I like Timothy McGee more."

* * *

**AN:**…I may or may not actually own a shirt with a picture of Neville Longbottom and the words "My Hero" on it. :hides said shirt behind her back:

I _might_ add one more chapter to this (sort of an epilogue), so I'm open to opinions on it!


	4. Chapter 4

"Timmy! I missed you!"

Tim stumbled back as Abby enveloped him in one of her famous hugs. Once he regained his balance, he wrapped his arms around her, returning it at full force. "Thank you, Abby. Nice to know I was missed."

"You were gone, Probie?"

"Come on, Tony. You can admit that you missed me."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, the day isn't half as fun if I don't have you to torture." Tim laughed, knowing that Tony meant this in the best of all possible ways.

His time spent as Thom E. Gemcity had come to a close, at least for the time being. While he was a bit sad that he had to abandon his literary alter ego and return to being plain old "Timothy McGee," he was relieved to be back in a setting that he knew and loved. Same old Ziva, needlessly cleaning her gun as she watched Tim in amusement; same old Tony, smiling impishly as he tried to come up with new, devious ways to annoy Tim; same old Abby, high on caffeine and bouncing up and down while bombarding Tim with questions.

"So what did you see? What did you do? Did you meet anyone famous?"

"Abby," he said, smiling at her childlike curiosity, "I saw a lot of things, I did a lot of things, and I met a lot of people…though no one famous." He pulled out his digital camera and offered it to her. Abby snatched it and began looking through the gallery of pictures. Tony and Ziva crowded around her intrigued to see what their little Timothy McGee had been up to while he was gone.

Tim took the moment to settle in at his desk and start his computer while the trio was distracted by pictures. He had taken a red eye back and had only stopped at his apartment long enough to drop off his suitcase before coming in, so Tim decided to quickly check his e-mail before having to give Abby the detailed account of his trip. 20 new messages. He opened the box and scanned down the line of e-mails. Spam. Spam. Memo from the Director. Spam. Forwarded list of pay dates. E-mail from mom. Spam. Memo. And so on.

Near the bottom of the line of unread e-mails was one with the subject line "To Thom/Tim from Nora/Dorothy." Tim grinned as he clicked it open.

**Hey, Thom…or should I call you Tim? I guess I should go with Tim since right now I'm Dorothy. Sorry it's taken me so long to e-mail you. I had callbacks for a production of **_**Anything Goes**_** :crosses fingers: so I've been really busy, what with that and the club and waitressing…:sigh: The life of an actress really isn't so glamorous.**

**I just wanted to make sure the rest of your trip is a good one. While Chicago is more or less the coolest city on the earth, I'm sure you'll have a great book signing tour and see lots of great sights. Maybe you'll meet another jazz club singer and Thom will once again emerge. Or maybe you won't…but Thom will still emerge. Or maybe you'll just be Timothy McGee for the rest of your trip. Personally, I hope it's the latter of the three. Really, I'm glad that we ran into each other (even if I looked like I wanted to disappear when we did). Not only am I glad to find that you're a great guy (not that Thom wasn't a great guy, mind you) but it was nice to not have to pretend, you know? It's fun and it gives me confidence to become Nora, but at the end of the day I can't deny the Dorothy that I am, just as you can't deny the Timothy that you are. I guess our aliases are good outlets for our other sides now and then and to avoid having life become so humdrum and predictable. Maybe that's why I became and actress. Maybe it's why you became a writer. :shrugs:**

**That about covers it, I guess. If you're planning to come back to Chicago let me know. I'll show you the rest of the city (yes, there is more to Chicago than just the museums and The Green Mill). Maybe, though, I should come to D.C. sometime and let you show me around (if I wouldn't be in the way, of course).**

**I should go now and let you get back to whatever you were doing when this darn e-mail popped up. I hope to hear from you!**

**Yours truly,**

**Nora/Dorothy (Norothy?)**

**P.S. I was just thinking what it would be like if Tim and Nora met or if Dorothy and Thom met. Or if Nora, Dorothy, Tim, and Thom went on some kind of crazy double date! Not that I'm asking you to ask me out on a date or anything! It was just a thought.**

**P.P.S. Maybe in your next novel you can have the McGregor character meet a jazz singer based on someone you know… ;) Kidding…sort of. **

"Who is Nora Dorothy?" Tony asked as he peered over Tim's shoulder.

Tim swatted at the man like one would swat at a fly. "DiNozzo, I don't think I invited you to read my private e-mails." He quickly closed the e-mail to keep Tony from reading any further.

"Is this Nora Dorothy?" Ziva asked as she turned the camera screen toward the two men. On the screen was a digital picture of Tim and Dorothy standing before the huge dinosaur that stood in the Field Museum.

"Yes," he told her as he gently took the camera back, "and she is just someone I met when I was in Chicago."

"Someone you met or someone you _met_?" Abby asked with a mischievous smile.

"Someone I met, Abby," he told her honestly. "I can promise you, Dorothy and I did nothing together except see the museums. _Now Thom E. Gemcity and Nora Delphi, on the other hand…_Tim's mind trailed off and he grinned as he recalled the night, fraught with flirtations and sexual tension. But that would just be Thom E. Gemcity's little secret.

"I believe him," Tony said. "I mean, this is McGeek we're talking about. Now if it had been _me_ on the other hand…"

"Believe me, Tony, we are all very familiar with your porny pick-up lines."

"The term is 'corny,' Ziva."

"I like my word better."

Tim half-listened as his colleagues argued. His mind, though, was on his other self. Thom E. Gemcity. The cool, confident novelist who wouldn't bat an eyelash if a busty woman were to fall into his lap. The kind of man who didn't discuss sexual conquests, but would smile in a way that would let everyone know just how good and satisfying it had been. The stone-faced writer who never let on exactly what he was thinking. While it was true that he enjoyed the "Timothy" that he was, he still couldn't forget how wonderful it had felt to have that one change of pace, that one moment of unpredictability. But why did it have to end there? Just because there was no longer a Nora to serve as a catalyst for Thom didn't mean that Thom couldn't still be in the forefront now and then. Perhaps he should go out that night…not Timothy, but Thom. Someplace where he knew no one and could let Thom run wild and free.

Tim grinned a grin that was very unlike him. Sometimes having an alias was a wonderful thing.

* * *

**AN:** And thus our story comes to an end! I must admit that I quite like Nora/Dorothy, so maybe I'll have her make an appearance in a later story. At this point, though, I should focus on a couple of WIPs I still have floating about and leave her be for a while.

Thanks for reading!


End file.
